


A piece of [her]

by Lady_Disdain



Series: Musings From the Scattered Brain of Rosencrantz [3]
Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: Character Homework Turned Drabble, Drabble, F/F, FemHoratio, FemRosencrantz, obviously they die it's in the title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Disdain/pseuds/Lady_Disdain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosencrantz doesn’t always pay attention.  But for some reason she always pays attention to Horatio.</p><p>Part of a series of drabbles based on character homework from a rep production of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and Hamlet. Ros and Horatio were played by women, so are female in these drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A piece of [her]

Rosencrantz doesn’t always pay attention. But for some reason she always pays attention to Horatio.

Hamlet had started bringing Horatio around when she was just a kid. Eighteen years old, and slightly desperate to prove that she wasn’t just his spaniel or the kid sister of the group. 

Four years later and Horatio had mostly succeeded in that quest. Six year was not the gulf now that it had been then.

Horatio was a determined whiskey drinker who could hold her liquor better than any of her men, despite her diminutive size. Pocket sized, Rosencrantz thought of her. 

She wore too much makeup. Too much black kohl eyeliner, too much cherry red lipstick. So did Rosencrantz though. Sometimes Rosencrantz wondered what Horatio would look like in the morning. Kohl and lipstick smudged on her pillowcase. Whose pillowcase the makeup was smeared on in the vision wasn’t something she was ready to think too much about.

Tiny neat hands. Short nails, always perfectly manicured. The perfection of her polish was the direct opposite of Rosencrantz’s own, always chipped, always smudged.

She was the only person who ever called her by her first name. Rosencrantz sometimes wondered Guildenstern had long forgotten what her first name even was only to be reminded again each time Horatio used it. She would think that Hamlet never knew it, if it wasn’t for that once. But Horatio always called her Eleanor when it was just the four of them. And Rosencrantz called her Clara in return, but the syllables always felt foreign on her tongue. 

Her laugh. When they’re out at the bars with all their boys, her laugh is throaty and loud as she exchanges course jokes with the boys. It draws the attention of men and women who look as though they’d like to be the one making her laugh like that.

In private her laugh is different. It’s soft and gentle, like her eyes. It draws the attention of Rosencrantz, who secretly thrills when she’s the one making her laugh like that.


End file.
